


Falling Small

by HedwigGirl



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Angst, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, LoK except I am a leftist and so is Korra, Mystery, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26473447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedwigGirl/pseuds/HedwigGirl
Summary: The first thing you learn as a new derby skater is how to fall— tuck your arms and legs close to your body and make yourself as small as possible. Falling is a part of the sport, and as star skater for the Republic City Rollers, Korra isn’t afraid of getting a little bruised.That is, until her best friend Mako-- freshly a cop-- starts dating mysterious punk bassist Asami Sato. Suddenly, the stakes for falling seem higher than ever. Beyond her burgeoning enthrallment with the bassist, a new job as a research assistant causes Korra to question the systems and forces that shape her life in the city. And when she stumbles upon a dark and multilayered mystery, one irrevocably intertwined in the lives of her and her friends, no amount of tucking arms and legs will protect her from the impact.
Relationships: Bolin/Opal (Avatar), Jinora/Kai (Avatar), Korra/Asami Sato, Mako/Asami Sato
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	1. Muscling Through

Korra sidestepped the horde of thrashing women as easily as if they were ants on the sidewalk, the hunger to inflict pain, to win, roaring in her chest, creeping hotly up her throat— just a little further, she thought, picking up speed, and finally, finally catching up to the foremost of the other team’s blockers. Korra hip-checked the girl with a horrible force, her body like a weapon, strong and angular and solid. She felt the crunch of the other girl’s body crumpling outside the track, her skates clattering helplessly for a foothold as she collapsed. Like squashing bugs. Korra paused for a second, panting. Her cheek stung from where the other girl’s elbow pad had ricocheted off her jaw. She skated back into the thrashing entanglement of bodies, re-immersing herself in the pack. Korra thought she saw the jagged edge of Jinora’s outline from the corner of her eye, weaving through the mass of bodies that were writhing, sweaty and intertwined—was she ahead of the other jammer? It was impossible to see from this vantage point,— the voices of the announcers, always tinny and quiet, fading to static in the throbbing, rush of blood and adrenaline that pulsated through her ears, through her brain. Someone’s knee clipped Korra in the side—an illegal hit, surely— but the game thundered on. Derby wasn’t about legality, not most of all. It was about the cacophonous clash of bodies, the grinding of metal and muscle and will.

The referees whistled to signal the end of the jam. Korra wiped sweat off her forehead and looked anxiously up at the scoreboard. Jinora had scored four points on that jam before ending it— putting them narrowly ahead of their competitors, the Ba Sing Slayers. “Time out!” Lin called gruffly from somewhere behind Korra, where she stood in her position as pivot. Korra skated over to the bench with the rest of her teammates, quickly squirting water from her water bottle into her open mouth, the perverse relief of a few droplets rolling off of her chin. Although she was supposed to be listening to Lin, as Korra stood there, the voices of the announcers trickled slowly into her awareness. 

“This is a great season for the Republic City Rollers. If they win this game, their record will stand 5-1 and they will secure a spot in the playoffs. Keep your eye on Twinkle Toes for Republic City, folks— one of the quickest jammers in the league— The other announcer cutting in— Personally, my eyes are glued on Ava Tarr the whole time for Republic. She has some of the most solid blocking footwork in the league, even when going up against girls twice her size. Korra smiled wickedly to herself.

“Ava!” Lin snapped at her. The rest of the team was lasered in on the huddle.

“Sorry,” Korra said easily, still grinning. It didn’t matter, really— she felt sure they would win. She felt explosive with adrenaline, electric and terrifying.

“What we’re gonna do,” Lin said, “is try doing more of a zone-based play on this next jam. Av, I want you to stick to their jammer right from the jump, and push her to the right, so she’s forced to try to jerk left—“ Lin gestured abstractly at a variety of circles and overlapping lines she had scrawled quickly on a whiteboard. “Then I want you— Slice, Klepto— to form a sort of staggered wall here—“

“Lin,” Korra said impatiently, watching the scoreboard timer tick down, “Do we really have time for a whole new technique right—“

“Sometimes just muscling your way through everything isn’t going to work, Korra” Lin seethed, impatiently. “This other girl isn’t as quick as Twinkle Toes, I think if we trip her up early on in this jam, we’ll be in a solid position as lead.” 

Everyone turned to look at Korra. The referees blew their whistles to signify the beginning of the next jam. “Yeah, yeah,” Korra said. “Let’s win this thing.”

*

“Nice game, Ava Tarr,” Jinora (Twinkle Toes) closed her locker and finished stuffing the last of her skates into her bag. “You guys fucked that other jammer up. She was absolutely pissed at the end.”

“Only cause you skated circles around her,” Korra leaned out from her locker to punch Jinora lightly on the shoulder.

“No, Korra, you were seriously a beast tonight,” Kai (Klept O Maniac) shrugged their jacket on. “Like— if our hits are as hard as that going into the next few weeks, we might have the regional title cinched.”

“No fucking way,” Eska (Slice Slicebaby) called from the corner.

“Yes,” Kai countered, grinning maniacally.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lin cautioned. The older woman was tightening one of the screws on her skate, her brow furrowed. “There’s a lot of seasoned teams in the league. We’re a young team— half of you were fresh meat only a few months ago. We’ll have to train hard to even get a shot of making it far in the playoffs.”

“Lin,” Korra said, making a face at the other skaters behind her back. “Even if you’re right, there’s no need to package it like that.”

“We’ll take tomorrow off,” Lin said, rising to her feet and dwarfing Korra. “But Sunday… Sunday we train hard.”

It wasn’t like Korra didn’t want to win— she did, maybe more than she’d ever wanted anything ever. She thought about winning regionals constantly— in her dreams, while she was supposed to be concentrating in class, in the middle of her conversations with her non-derby friends, so much so that Mako and Bolin would have to stop her (Korra, you’re such a rink rat). It’s just that she didn’t think there was any use getting anxious about it. Everything important that happened, happened on the rink— where she was in control of it, where she could will her body to arc and twist and shove with precision and power that was beyond thought, beyond conscious effort. Like some sort of trance spiritual state brought on by the rubbery smell of the rink floor, the discordant screech of toe-stops. 

When she finally left the derby rink for the night, Korra found herself walking to the subway with Jinora and Kai.

“Any plans for tonight, Korra?” Jinora asked. Korra noticed suddenly that the two younger skaters were holding hands, but she didn’t say anything about it. The night air felt cool and hopeful on her hot skin.

“Well… no practice tomorrow,” Korra said wryly. “I’m trying to get fucked up.”

*

“Hey Opal,” Korra called, stepping through the door of their dorm. She threw her skates and bag by the entrance to her room. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Opal called from the kitchen. There was some sort of pop song playing that Korra didn’t recognize, but slanted through the dorm positively, filling up the space with a warm, fuzzy hum. The kitchen was filled with the sizzling of mushrooms and onions.

“This smells so good,” Korra said, grabbing a mushroom from the pan and ducking under Opal’s reprimand. “I’m showering,” she called over her shoulder by way of apology, “this smells so good. Seriously.”

Korra closed the door to the bathroom and began peeling her derby outfit from her skin, still clinging to her with the faint stick of sweat, despite the chill of the night air on the walk and subway ride back. She started the water, and took her hair out of its ponytail. Korra stared at herself in the mirror for a second as the fog rose slowly around her to fill the room. The contour of her stomach, the dip of her pelvic bone. The bruises dug into her side, dotting her ass, blooming various shades or purple and green. 

The shower felt incredible, numbing on her entire body. Maybe that was the best thing about derby, although it was hard to explain exactly— the pain of it, the crunching, crushing way you could throw your entire body into something, a sport where it felt entirely impossible to stay on solid ground, upright, solid. Doing it well felt like it was destroying you. 

“What are you wearing?” Korra called over her shoulder as she padded out of the bathroom towards her room. Opal was humming along loudly and didn’t seem to hear. Korra supposed that it didn’t matter— it’s not like Opal’s going-out look would actually play much of a role in informing her own. Or that she really cared that much about what she looked like anyway. Other than cutting her hair a month ago, in a moment of identity crisis, Korra didn’t usually put that much effort into her personal appearance. School was school— it wasn’t like she was trying to impress anyone in any of her poli sci classes. Sure, maybe it would be useful to be making a better impression in those classes— Korra had no idea what she would possibly do with that poli sci degree—it just never felt pressing, somehow. Whatever. She pulled on black jeans and a black t-shirt. That would be fine. It was just a bar— or something. Mako’s idea.

The door clicked open in the hallway. Speaking of Mako. “Helloooo,” Bolin, called cheerfully.

“What’s up you guys?” Korra went out to greet them. “Missed you tonight.”

“Congrats on the win,” Mako. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it— busy day.”

“Knew you would kick their ass though.” Bolin grinned at her. “How’d ya think you played?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Korra smiled at him as Mako shook his head. “No I actually feel really great, though. Like all the work I put in over the winter in the gym is really paying off.”

“Yeah, yeah we get it,” Opal said, coming into the hallway then. “You’re ripped. Does anyone want dinner?”

“How was work?” Korra asked Mako as they moved towards the kitchen. It came out a little shorter than she intended, a little harsher.

“Fine,” Mako said tersely. He had just started as a cop as a few weeks ago. She still couldn’t get used to it, couldn’t reconcile the idea of the Mako she thought she knew with— but it didn’t matter now, not now when they were all together, about to go out. She couldn’t think about it now.

“So,” Korra said, crashing down at the small table adjacent to the kitchen. Deciding to switch tacks. “What’s the move for tonight?”

“I was thinking we could hang out here for a second, pregame. And then, there’s a show…” Mako said, hesitantly. Korra could have sworn he was blushing slightly, if she didn’t know him and his deep-seated resistance to ever showing emotion.

“Bolin,” Korra called into the kitchen, where he was helping Opal carry the plates in. “Why’s Mako being so weird about the show?”

“Oh,” Bolin said, grinning, as he walked over to their table. “Well this show happens to have a band on the lineup with a girl playing in it.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Opal said, setting a dish on the table, teasing, “There’s lots of girls in lots of bands these days, really…”

“You’re fucking someone in the band?” Korra said too loudly. “Mako!”

“We hooked up twice—Opal, this looks delicious— I would hardly call that fucking.”

“Twice is fucking,” Bolin crowed. “By definition. Anyway, she seems cool, bro. I’m excited to see her set.”

“This is so good, Opal,” Korra said, through a mouthful of mushroom pasta. “I’m really sorry I didn’t get home earlier to help prepare it.”

“No worries,” Opal smiled sweetly across the table at her, “With your kitchen track-record, it might be for the best you didn’t, actually.”

*

Korra realized, as she stepped out of the subway station with her friends, that it had been a long time since she had been out like this. I mean, she liked to go out— but it was usually a rotation of two or three bars by campus, or team-building hangouts with her derby family. Otherwise, she was usually busy. Usually, when they managed to get the entire gang together one or two nights a week, they were so preoccupied with catching up with and checking in with one another and just being stupid or silly that they weren’t usually looking to get blackout afterwards. But it felt nice, out in the coolness of the night like this, her muscles sore, an arm linked in Bolin’s and Mako’s like they were all trying to stay steady, and also maybe like they never wanted to lose each other. 

“This is it!” Opal called out as they rounded the corner. Korra thought she recognized the name of the bar from some of the conversations she’d overheard from derby girls— somewhere decidedly cool, maybe even a little punk. They ducked inside, and were greeted by the comfortable stuffiness of the crowded space, misty red-tinged light. The group had unlinked arms stepping into the building then, and Korra ventured a glance up at Mako. It’s not as if he wasn’t cool, or into alternative shit— he always had, that had always been— a part of what drew her to him, what led her to becoming friends with him and Bolin. Like they all felt a little out of place, a little on the fringe. But now, now that he was a cop— it felt hard to reconcile that with the loose aesthetics of the space, the palpability of its ACAB ethos. 

“I’ll get drinks!” Korra said, over the high-pitched screeching of one of the opening bands’ feedback as they began setting up their instruments. No use thinking about it— even though she should be thinking about it, she should be critically examining, observing— but no, this was her night off— and Mako was like a brother to her. She wanted him here, with them, right now and always. So what was the point of saying anything about it? 

“Hey Korra,” a raspy voice nudged her as she stood at the bar waiting to catch the bartender’s attention. Korra, turned, momentarily confused— the greeting had come from a tall, muscular girl— derby it clicked immediately, you could always get the sense— although it wasn’t any of her teammates, or someone that she had played with before.

“I’m sorry,” Korra frowned. “I’m not sure we know each other? Or maybe I don’t remember?”

“I’m Kuvira,” the girl smiled tightly, but there was something vaguely venomous coiled below the controlled introduction. “I skate for Steel City. I think we’ve been at the same tournament before— but I saw you skate tonight. Killer game.”

“Oh, thanks! Yeah I was happy with how it turned out. I’ll have to, er, catch one of your— I mean—“

“Hopefully we’ll see each other in playoffs,” Kuvira said coolly. “I think both of our teams have a good chance of making it pretty far. Anyway… see you around… Korra…”

Vaguely unsettled, Korra shook off the interaction and pushed her way to the front of the throng of people standing at the bar. She managed to shout her order over the blaring of the band, who had started on their first song. Drinks balanced precariously in hand, she picked her way through the crowd that had coalesced closer to the stage to where her friends stood. “Cheers!” she shouted, handing the drinks out.

“Who were you talking to?” Bolin shouted over the music.

“Derby girl… competition. Bit of a tense interaction.”

“Ah.” Next to them, Opal was swaying slightly, as if struggling to find a danceable rhythm in the DIY noise blaring at them. Mako was nodding stoically, drink in hand, although Korra was amused to see that he had unbuttoned his shirt slightly, loosening the collar. 

“Are you planning on making any moves tonight?” Korra prodded Bolin teasingly. She was sure, and had been for a while, that Bolin was harboring a little thing for Opal, but didn’t want to say anything about it for fear of upsetting the delicate balance of it all. 

Sure enough, the boy glanced briefly toward Opal as he contemplated. “I mean… not exactly.”

“You should.”

“Yeah. Well.” A pause. The malnourished looking, disheveled lead singer of the band shrieked loudly as discordant guitars blared around him. “What about you?”

Korra only laughed. “I’m king wingman tonight baby. I’m trying to help all you guys get laid.” She was buzzed, and anyway, she didn’t really talk about her sex life with Mako and Bolin. She loved them, they were her best friends in the entire world, but it just felt… weird. I mean, there was the whole Mako thing, even if that was years ago at this point. But since then…The most powerful thing about her relationship with Bolin and Mako was the way it was often beyond words, a certain sense of sureness and understanding that didn’t need to be verbalized. Why complicate that?

With a final flourish, the band on stage finished up their set. “Thank God,” Mako muttered under his breath.

“Smoke break,” Opal said. “Please.”

“I’ll go with you,” Korra said. “I need some air.” It did feel impossibly good, ducking into the alley right outside the venue. The night air bringing her back to center. Opal leaned against the brick wall and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, lighting up. 

“Want one?” She motioned to Korra, who shook her head. “Ah right. Athlete.” 

“How’re you liking the set?”

“Bad,” Opal blurted out. She laughed. “I want karaoke next time to make up for this.”

“Oh god yeah,” Korra said, “If only to see Mako get up there and make an absolute buffoon of himself.” They laughed. They sat in the coolness for a second as Opal’s cigarette faded down to a soft ember.

“Fuck,” she said, stubbing it out, suddenly, “I think the next set’s starting up.” They ducked back into the venue, into the dim rumble of the bar. 

The next sequence of events would always be clouded, in Korra’s recollection of them, in sort of a faded dream-haze— pushing her way through the strobe-light fragmented crowd, so focused on Mako’s head bobbing above everyone that everything else faded out to a dumb fuzz. Reaching the boys, who were both staring intently at the stage. Turning to look up for the very first time. And immediately— heart beating loudly in her mouth before she even fully understood why— locking eyes with the bassist. (Was it the bassist? Surely not the lead guitarist? The way the instrument hung low and sure on her hips, was shellacked an impenetrable vinyl red, glistening like the slick on her lips—). The girl grinned at Korra, biting her lip, and looked down at her instrument to switch chords (her fingers long, and lithe, and nimble on the frets). 

This was almost certainly the girl Mako was fucking— tall and long and kohl-smeared black around the eyes. She even looked a little like Mako, from this distance, but sharper, and softer. “Is that her?” Korra nudged him. When he nodded slightly in response, she felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t quite place. 

The band felt undeniably cool, even for a venue like this— a bobbing mass of silvery eyeshadow, grungey haircuts, and fishnets. Korra tried to focus her attention on the other members—the energetic, (ironically?) mustachioed singer, the knowingly dorky glasses on the drummer— but felt her attention drifting irrevocably back to the bassist, as if some sort of wire had been stretched, long and taut between the two of them.

Korra headed back to the bar to get another drink. She looked around for a second to see if the derby girl from earlier was there, just because her brain felt fried, and the surest solution always felt like lashing out to do something reckless and ill-advised. The band wrapped up in the background with a flourish. Like a sullen observer, Korra watched the bassist emerge from the labyrinthine backstage, head to toe in leather, impossibly cool. She watched Mako lean down and say something to her, “Great set,” maybe, and kiss her quickly on the cheek. The girl smiled tightly in response, but her expression remained mostly impassive, inscrutable. Opal and Bolin were nowhere to be found in the crowd.

Korra turned to the bartender to close her tab. Something strange and hoarse and desperate was crackling in her chest, probably from the alcohol. Vibrating like the strum of a bass chord.


	2. Invisible Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're coming back, you might have noticed I edited the fic summary a bit hehe. Getting a real hang on where we're headed! Please leave feedback/ let me know what you think-- comments are super helpful for me :-)

Korra forgot, when she was stumbling over to Mako and Bolin’s apartment Friday morning with bagels, that there was a chance that they wouldn’t be alone. Maybe it was the hangover she was nursing with a lukewarm coffee the brisk wind had significantly cooled on the way over from the bodega, or maybe it was just a classic case of her scatterbrained-ness. 

But when she barged into their apartment, there was a girl eating cereal at their kitchen table. The bassist. Without the glam of her punk ensemble, Korra was surprised to see that the girl looked much softer around the edges. Less heart stoppingly intimidating (although that didn’t stop something from wrenching in Korra’s chest, slightly, before she tugged herself away from it—)

“Oh hey,” the girl said, smiling up at her. “I’m Asami. I thought I saw you at the show last night but I didn’t get a chance to say hi.”

“I left,” Korra said, “Sorry. Drunk. Tired. You know. I’m Korra, by the way.”

“That’s too bad,” Asami said. Her eyes were very green.

“Your set was great,” Korra said quickly. 

“Thank you,” Asami said, taking another bite of cereal. “The energy in there was fucking fantastic. That always helps.”

“How long have you guys been a band?” Korra leaned against the doorway to the kitchen then. When she had walked through the door of the apartment there had been a real sense of urgency to her intentions, but now, for the life of her, she couldn’t think what those might have been.

Asami grimaced. “Not long actually— our lead vocalist— Varrick— well we’ve known each other for a long time but I’m not sure we’re the best fit.”

“You don’t sing?”

Asami laughed, in a way that was throaty and surprising and sincere “Not at all. Do you?”

Korra blushed slightly, although she wasn’t quite sure why. “I’m not really the musical type.”

“What type are you then?”

“Still figuring that out,” Korra said, “but I play roller derby.”

“You’re joking.” Asami put her spoon down. “That’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You should come see me play.” The words were out before Korra was even sure what she meant, or how she meant it. Asami’s eyes were locked with hers, something crackling in them.

“I would love that.” A pause. Korra felt desperate to break it, only sure that she didn’t want this conversation to end, Asami to look away from her—

“Uh—I’d never really… thought about the bass as an instrument. I mean before I saw you guys play last night.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What have you been thinking about it?”

“It’s like the heartbeat,” Korra said quickly, impulsively. Before she could think about it. “Of the band. Or when you’re standing in the audience I guess…” and her fingers curled wordlessly on the fabric of her shirt over her own heart.

“Huh,” Asami said, smiling slightly (like a flicker of that smile in last night’s first electric moment—) as if this image pleased her. “I think you’re making it sound way sexier than it really is.”

Korra was saved the impossibility of having to reply by Bolin bursting into the kitchen suddenly then, and going on about the way they were late for class. Korra was sure she was blushing though. There was something distinctly knowing in Bolin’s look, as the two of them bid Asami goodbye, that she steadfastly decided to ignore.

***

Korra slumped down in her seat. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her classes, or didn’t enjoy them, but it sometimes felt hard to feel actively excited about them. Half the class was consumed by some ravenous and manic desire to be perceived as genius, to convince the professor of something true and irrevocable about their own intellect. Half of the class was there for credits and the autonomy provided by a degree. And a third, intangible half of the class drifted somewhere in the nebulous expanse of caring and uncaring, tethered by some recollection that they had once found meaning in studying politics or contributing to society but cognizant of the fact that that meaning was missing in rote university assignments.

Not to say every class was like that. Friday mid-mornings were actually pretty decent, as courses go. Professor Aang was really old, and silly in a way that felt particularly delicious in an academic setting. Especially since it was a political science class. Especially since it was a political science class focused on “Building Peace.”  
The class hadn’t been what she expected, though. Aang felt really skeptical of international conglomerates and invasive government intervention in the name of “peacekeeping” than most of the other members of the political science department.

“Are there nonviolent ways to construct peaceful solutions?” the professor was saying, pacing thoughtfully at the front of the class. “Or are these attempts at enforcing nonviolence their own form of violence?” 

Korra twitched slightly, feeling that there might be something there about Mako, and the police force, if she could only think to reach for it. Instead, she played loops of her own violent highlight reels in her head, the hungry rush of crushing bones against the track, of colliding hip with skull, hurting, winning.

As class ended, and the other students filed out of the stuffy room, Aang held his hand out to block her exit, “Korra,” he said, not unkindly, “Do you have a second?”

Korra exhaled shortly and tightly. Sure, she hadn’t exactly been paying attention, but did that warrant being chewed out? The professor was erasing the board, in long, slow strokes, taking his time. “Is there a problem, professor?”

“No,” Aang said genially, and when he turned around to face her again (the class completely empty at this point), there was some deep kindness enfolded in the crinkles of his eyes that Korra wasn’t sure she’d ever noticed from the further lecture seats. Nothing like her academic advisor, Tenzin, who had called her out last week for being behind on graduation requirements.

“No problem at all,” he continued. “Actually, I just wanted to thank you for all your great work so far this semester. I rather enjoyed your last essay.”  
Korra wracked her brain trying to figure out what her most recent essay had been on. It had been a last-minute affair, she was sure, she remembered asking Opal to read over it minutes before the deadline—

“I wanted to ask you,” Aang continued, gauging the uncertainty of her reaction, “if you would be interested in coming on as my research assistant for this term.”

“Your research assistant?” 

“Yes. Well. The files and papers and such are getting a little hard to manage and it always helps to have another set of eyes. You know.”

“But are you sure,” Korra sputtered, “Me— Professor—?”

“My current interest is centered around urban violence,” he continued simply, “Not on an individual level of course but rather on a state… a political level. Violence against communities. Although I’m still in the early stages, of course.”

“Professor,” Korra said confidently, “I lived in the middle of nowhere for most of my life. I would hardly say I’m the expert on urban—“

“Well,” Aang said. “You live in the city now. And I believe, if you pay attention, the city is saying rather more to us everyday than one might think.”

Korra was certain she had no idea what he meant— surely they were the words of encroaching senility, the half-batty observations of an eccentric old man. But on the walk home, she was certain that she could feel all the strings of the city— like the string she had felt last night at the concert but everywhere, criss-crossing over one another, tangled around the buildings and tight streets and throngs of people. Each vibrating with its own particular melody, the awareness of a million lives and moments suddenly bursting in her chest.

***

Korra was thinking about fucking Mako. Not that she wanted to, or had wanted to, for years. She had dated Mako briefly right when she met him and Bolin in high school, maybe because they had clicked really well right away, maybe just because he was there. The thought of fucking him, as it appeared to her then, appeared not out of any longing to be doing the same now, but as if she were standing outside of it all, an observer looking down from far above. Asami and Mako, like she had seen them at the bar (leaning down, whispering to each other, smiling) entwined together in his apartment—

This isn’t useful, she thought, frustrated with herself. It’s not like she had any control over anything Mako did, or that she should care, even. He had probably fucked dozens of girls since high school, a thought that didn’t bother her in the slightest, but there was something about this girl, imagining the soft arc of her neck—

“Thinking about someone, Korra?” Kai jeered at her.

“No,” Korra blushed. She was lifting with Jinora and Kai, and hadn’t noticed how immersed in the toxicity of her own thoughts she had been. “Only thinking about how hard we’re gonna crush whatever team we play next.”

“I think we might be playing Steel City,” Kai said, “D’you know them?” Korra’s stomach did a flip thinking about the girl she had met at the bar last night. Kuvira. Kai continued, “I think Lin might have gotten some confidential information from her connections at the police—“

Korra dropped the weight she had been about to jerk upwards. “Lin’s WHAT?”

“Police chief,” Jinora said coolly, unperturbed by the clanging of Korra’s weights on the rubbery floor. “Honestly, the way you don’t know that, Korra, after we’ve been playing on the same team for years…”

Korra’s mind was racing. She wasn’t sure that she had heard Lin talk about her job before, not explicitly, although it was possible that she, Korra, had not been paying attention… Although Mako had never mentioned his boss. Then again, Korra had only asked him sparse questions thus far about his job, it was something she didn’t like to think about, after all. 

Korra chalked up her hands before approaching the barbell. What she needed right now was to forget about Mako, and Asami, and lose herself in raw physical exertion for a second. She thrust the weight into the air and held it for a second, lowering it slowly, before repeating the movement to finish the set.

“Holy shit,” Jinora muttered, “That has to be a PR. I didn’t realize you were interested in literally killing the other team…”

“Killing herself, more like it.” 

Korra’s muscles burned horribly, deliciously; she sidestepped the accusation. “D’you guys have any plans for the evening?”

“They’re doing this massive construction on the park by my apartment” Jinora said, grimacing, “it’s impossible to get anything done, I don’t understand—“

“Luckily,” Kai said, “You seem to be permanently living at my place at the moment—“

“I meant to ask you guys about that,” Korra said, grinning. “Since when are you dating?”

“I dunno,” Jinora said, looking at Kai so particularly that Korra felt momentarily like she was intruding on a deeply private moment. “They were just always around, interested in my life—“

“Never,” Kai said, shaking their head, although they were also looking at Jinora softly, “I feel like I just kept roasting you and you were taking it the wrong way.”

Korra left them to it, walking out of the gym with a spring in her step. The air felt crisp and clean.The particular green of the trees glinting from the corner of her eye reminded her of something specific, something that filled her chest with a tight glow, but in that moment, she couldn’t quite think what.

***

“I covered my first death today,” Mako said, as simply as if he were discussing the weather, or a particularly bland newspaper article. 

Korra, who was drying dishes, locked eyes with Bolin at the kitchen counter incredulously. They hadn’t thought Mako was doing much more than paperwork, this early in the job. Korra knew, and she knew that Bolin knew it too, that this is what Mako had wanted all along— the rush of the high stakes, the adrenaline of life and death hanging in the balance. 

“Um… how did they…” Bolin started. “I mean— was it a murder?”

“God no,” Mako said. “You think they would have me covering murders? That’s detective stuff.” Although Korra could hear him say the word detective with a certain soft longing in his voice.

“A suicide then?” Korra. 

“Just a gas leak, actually,” Mako scrubbed a pot vigorously in the sink. “Although I have to say, the circumstances were bizarre… Really young guy, a careful, OCD type.”

“Gee, looks like Detective Mako is on the trail of a conspiracy!” Bolin said so brightly that they all laughed. 

“Nah,” Mako said, dipping another dish in the soapy water. “Just thinking.”

“Maybe you should think less,” Korra said, “And focus more on practicing for karaoke next weekend—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Mako said, because Korra and Bolin were laughing again. “But I mean, my job’s all about considering these big picture things, right? The greater—”

“The greater good?” Korra seethed. The room felt cold, almost violent suddenly. “I know you’re not about to say the greater good.” The last dregs of laughter steeped out then, as if in recognition of this unspoken-ness finally being unearthed. 

“Of course,” Mako said, in a tone that threatened iciness. “The point of the police department is to ensure a sense of collective safety—“

“How is committing, violence, against, people, entire communities, putting innocent people, how, how is that—“

“Be careful,” Mako said cooly. “Or you’ll break that.” Korra had inadvertently been pushing a porcelain plate so tightly in grip that her hands were trembling with restrained anger, the possibility of disaster.

“Mako,” Korra said, trying again. Softening. “I just don’t understand— considering the way you grew up, the life you had to live, how—“

“Don’t ever fucking presume to know how I grew up.” Dangerously quiet. Shoulders hunched over the sink. A beat, one or two suds floating anxiously through the air.

“Mako, I didn’t mean—“

“I know you didn’t mean, you never mean. Whatever. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with trying to do something good. For people.”

“I don’t think being a cop is good for people.” 

Bolin was looking helplessly between them, as if desperate to deliver some sort of peaceful conclusion to the conversation but uncertain just how that would even be possible. “Can’t we just— Guys, let’s just move on, we were having a nice night—“

“You always talk about wanting to save the world,” Mako said, turning around to face her, finally. “Always. We talked about that together even.”

Korra seethed with the implications of that statement, the reference to the naive dreams of her high school self, whispered to him in confidence…. Things she had trusted him with. “We’re not fucking dating anymore. I think a lot of things that you might not know about. And just because you don’t know about them—“

“You’re right!” He laughed loudly and falsely and meanly. “I don’t know! So why don’t you tell me about it, why don’t you clue me in to all the grand, wonderful Korra plans you have to magically fix all the world’s problems! With your fancy political science degree that your parents are paying for! Because until then, I think I can work inside the system to improve it. And that’s what I’m going to be focusing on.”

“Mako,” Bolin said angrily, “Seriously, that’s not helpful, can you think for a minute—“

“Fuck you,” Korra said, softly and surely and cruelly. She was proud of the steadiness of her voice. And then, she she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

Tears were welling in her eyes, but she brushed them back forcefully (even then, thundering down the empty stairwell, no one could see her cry). Her brain felt empty save for everything but an angry static fuzz; her plans consisted of nothing but running, a brisk evening jog down the dusky city sidewalks, until her legs and her lungs burned, losing herself completely in the movement— “Hey!” A surprised voice caught Korra by surprise as she burst through the doors of Mako and Bolin’s apartment building into the cool night.

She started, sure that through bleary tears she was only imagining things. It was Asami, carefully applied lipstick, waved hair and all. Undisturbed, unperturbed. Eyes crinkled with worry. “What’s wrong?” 

Korra almost laughed. She had never felt less cool—although why does that matter a reasonable part of her brain was trying to tell her, it’s just a girl like any other girl—snotty and simmering angry on the street. “Nothing,” she laughed meanly, surprised at herself. “He’s just such an asshole— but don’t let me stop you, by all means, I know you have places to be—“ She gestured towards the door of the apartment building, sure that that was where Asami had been headed, certain of the intended destination of those lips (on his neck again and again and again.)

“I was just going to get my jacket actually,” Asami said coolly. “I left it.” The two girls stared at each other for a minute. “Come on,” Asami said. “Let’s not be stupid. There’s a decent bar around the corner— Let’s sit down. You can tell me all about it.”

+++

“I’m not gonna drink,” Korra said automatically. “I have practice tomorrow.” 

“I get that,” Asami said, “Let’s do one shot. Just to calm your nerves.”

Korra hastily took a shot. There was a silence for a second as everything settled over her. “I dated Mako. You know. In high school.”

“Really?” Asami’s perfect eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He doesn’t seem like your type to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” This whiskey was settling over her then, like a light fog, a mist. 

“He’s so… cold. Serious. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I guess I don’t.” They looked at each other for a second. 

“I love Mako. But I don’t think I was ever in love with him.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean… sometimes people are there, and you fall into the wrong version of the thing you’re supposed to be.”

“Okay.”

“I was just telling you in case you wanted to love him.”

“I don’t think—“ Asami looked like she was struggling for a second, and Korra didn’t understand, she hadn’t meant to say…“I’m not— I mean I don’t—“

“We don’t have to talk about Mako.”

“Okay.”

“I’d actually rather never talk about him again. With you.” Korra looked into the other girl’s face, close enough to see the feathering of each individual eyelash.

“Let’s order another round,” Asami said quickly.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Sato?” A beat. The joke (accusation?) hung in the air.

“I don’t think,” Asami smiled, and then so quietly Korra might have imagined it, “that I would need to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our heroines are finally having some conversations.... I promise they will get more time in the upcoming chapters and everything won't necessarily be so political ! Let me know what you think & thanks again for reading~

**Author's Note:**

> Hi thanks for reading !! I'm excited to keep reimagining the gang as college students in the city/ deconstructing some of the Bryke politics I disagree with. Would appreciate your feedback!
> 
> Updating every Tuesday.


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